


asynchronous callback

by Kylaroid



Series: 502 bad gateway [5]
Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, For the most part, Mild Hurt/Comfort, take place between 4x9 and 4x10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylaroid/pseuds/Kylaroid
Summary: "An asynchronous callback—when a task is placed on a queue to be run after the completion of currently executing tasks. Now that we funneled all the money out of the Deus accounts, everything is spilling out at once."in which darlene searches and cannot find (thank you to @dom_dipierro on twitter for the prompt!)
Relationships: Darlene Alderson/Dominique DiPierro
Series: 502 bad gateway [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759651
Kudos: 32





	asynchronous callback

“I just sent the payment over to Leon. He said, that we should be ready to go tomorrow.” Elliot slides the hood from his face and slumps into the motel couch. His hands run along the length of his pants—spreading out that nervous energy.

‘ _It seems like I’m not the only one whose nervous_.’

Darlene is furiously typing away on her keyboard—eyes glossy like she might burst into tears at any given moment. Elliot regards her carefully—watches as she works the dried skin on her lips between her teeth. Her exhale is shaky—a pithy rattled breath that fills the silence of the motel.

‘ _I guess I don’t really know what’s been going on with Darlene. I’ve been kind of checked out. Sometimes a computer system becomes overwhelmed by heavy programs it isn’t equipped to run. It takes up all of the computer’s utilization and it becomes impossible to function. Sometimes, to get it to run properly again, you need to shut down all other applications to free up CPU space_.’

He blinks—glancing at Darlene before returning his gaze to his knees. The fear riddled across her face worms its way under his skin and provokes a subtle ache that he can’t entirely ignore. He leans back into the couch and runs his fingers through his hair—eyes bouncing nervously around the room. Unable to find a comfortable place to settle.

‘ _Do you think I should talk to her? That’s what siblings usually do in situations like these, right? But then again, we’ve never exactly been conventional siblings before. It might be best to just let her—_ '

“Fuck!” Darlene screams—inhaling deeply as she bolts up from the chair. Her shoulders shudder with her breathy exhale. She wraps her arms around herself—like a caterpillar forming a cocoon—and inches backward away from the computer. The yell provokes that fear in Elliot—that fight or flight instinct—and he mimics her, standing up.

“Darlene.” He begins—his wide eyes taking her in as she slumps against the nearest wall. “What happened?” She’s reeling over—hair cascading down and masking her face from sight.

‘ _What’s happening? Is this Dark Army? Are we compromised? Shit—were you paying attention?’_

Darlene wheezes—unable to calm or catch her breath as it slips ragged from her lips. Gasps loudly and then swallows—inhaling deeply through her nose. Elliot’s gaze is steady on her for a long moment—watching her movements. And then makes cautious steps towards her laptop. Turns his head slowly to inspect the screen. She has a hospital interface loaded up—the same shitty software that Elliot has hacked into many times before. She isn’t changing lab results or forging prescriptions orders though. She’s looking for something. Someone.

No patients registered.

The search was run for DiPierro—evidently with no results. He wracks his brain for a long moment before he finally processes the name.

‘ _Right. That was Darlene’s FBI contact—the one at the barn. Something happened. Shit—she’s really worked up. What do I do?_ ’

Elliot swallows his nerves and takes a half-step closer—cognizant to give her space. Croons his head down, just a little, to see if he can catch her eyes. “Darlene.” He calls again, voice steady this time. “Init 1?” She coughs—choking on her breath—before managing a nod. Inhales deeply, still shaky, but notably calmer. He approaches her gently—slowly—and lightly places his hands on her biceps. She eases a little into his touch as he guides her over to the shitty motel sofa. Darlene sinks into the couch and Elliot takes a seat beside her. Kicks off his sneakers and pulls his feet up to his chest. Wide eyes scrutinizing her posture, her body language, trying to read her like a string of code. Searching for the runtime errors in her programming. “I, uh, take it you ran into your contact again?” He starts hesitantly. A chuckle breaks through Darlene’s sobs—dry and doleful.

“Yeah,” she begins, wiping her face with the sleeve of her jacket. “That’s one fucking way to put it.” She sniffles hard and swallows—clearing her throat. Elliot doesn’t respond and instead simply waits for Darlene to continue. He knows she will—he’s been on the end of enough of Darlene’s diatribes and monologues to know when they’re coming.

“Do you remember the last phone call we had? Before the final hack, I mean.” Riddled in between memories of wandering aimlessly through the frigid woods with Tyrell, bandaging up a bleeding Olivia, and the horrors at Krista’s apartment that he's blocked out for the time being—it’s there. A moment of calm amongst the storm.

“When you were at Angela’s?” Elliot asks—forces the name out—just for confirmation. Darlene’s head bobs faintly—the motion so subtle that if he weren’t looking he would have missed it. She seems to have calmed down—but she’s not entirely there. Eyes glossed over as she peers blankly at nothing in particular.

“Yeah. Turns out I wasn’t alone.” Darlene inhales, a shaky breath to quell the anxiety that threatens to overtake her again. “After we hung up, Dom was just—there. Gun out and everything like the ghost of Christmas fucking past.”

‘ _Darlene—quips and jokes, but she’s just deflecting. She presents a cool and composed layout. Uses anger to mask her source code. The pain, the grief. But I get it. I’m the same, after all._ ’

“ _Shit_ —I really fucked things up, Elliot.” She chokes, that familiar sorrow leaking back into her voice. Her hand rises to her face and she presses her palm over her eyes. “Dark Army sent Dom to clean up our mess from Virtual Realty—clean me up. I— _fuck_ —I thought I was going to die.” Her brows furrow together and twist upwards as the memories overwhelm her. Breath hitches in her throat as she tries to find the words—form them—force them to come out. Like a sinner at confessional.

‘ _Dom works for Dark Army—makes sense. Their mole, Santiago, he never came back. Must’ve killed him and replaced him with—_ ’

“Dom, she asked me to _shoot_ her, Elliot.” She stresses incredulously—closing her eyes and forcing pooled tears out. “Put the gun in my hands and everything.” Darlene’s voice is strained, barely above a whisper—as if she doesn’t want to accept that that was reality. That Dom had forced the pistol into her palms and placed it flush against her stomach. Begged her to pull the trigger—to do what she couldn’t bring herself to do for months. “Dark Army showed up. Gave us a really boring shitty-ass lecture about cement.” Darlene chuckles dryly at that. Then swallows—that fear overtaking her features again. “They—they stabbed her. Elliot, she was there because of _me_. Fuck—I don’t know if she’s dead or not. I fucking left her bleeding out in the middle of Angela’s apartment. And I’ve checked three hospitals so far and she’s not registered as a patient in any of them.” She’s sobbing again—the words are tumbling out, her mind overtaking her mouth.

‘ _An asynchronous callback—when a task is placed on a queue to be run after the completion of currently executing tasks. Now that we funneled all the money out of the Deus accounts, everything is spilling out at once_.’

“Even though I broke her trust, I ruined her life, I put her family in danger—” She shudders, suppressing a cry that threatens to ink out of her throat despite herself. “After everything I did to her—she never stopped defending me.” She pauses—water welling up in her eyes again and blurring her vision.

“What if she’s dead, Elliot?” Her voice is a soft ghostly whisper—almost as if she’s forcing herself to accept that there may be a reality in which Dom DiPierro is gone. Elliot pauses—still processing all the information that is being thrown at him. But he gets it—feels the stinging parallels between his feelings for Angela and hers for Dom. The guilt of dragging someone you love into the chaos and watching it break them—and knowing that part of it is irrevocably your fault.

‘ _But this isn’t about me. Or Angela. Or you. This moment, it’s about them._ ’

“How did you get out?” Elliot asks—part of him confused, another curious, but mostly just needing more information than he’s gotten so far. “Dark Army. Did you make some sort of deal, or something?” Darlene chuckles pithily—shaking her head incredulously.

“She just, shot them all. Like she’s fucking John Wick or something. Hands bound and everything.” The edges of Elliot’s mouth curl upward into a small easy smile.

“That doesn’t sound like a woman who dies easily.” Their eyes meet for the first time since Elliot returned to the motel room. Darlene’s watery eyes soften against her brother’s steady gentle gaze. The tension melting away from her face. Replaced with understanding. Elliot breaks the eye contact—his eyes retreating back to the comfort on his lap. “You know—” He begins, eyebrows raising slightly. “There’s a lot of hospitals in New York.” He notes—tone raising hopeful and coltish. “You’re probably going to need some help, going through all of the networks.” Darlene’s expression shifts, slow. Confusion at first, and then she looks almost entirely overwhelmed by the gesture. Finally, she settles on a concoction of gratitude and relief. Drags her sleeve under her nose to wipe the snot threatening to drip further down her face. Quickly wipes her damp cheeks with clammy palms—doing her best to hide the evidence of her meltdown. Recompose herself.

“Yeah—” She murmurs, soft at first as she rises back onto her feet—treading over back to her laptop. “You’re right,” Darlene adds between a sniffle—doing her best to clear out her sinuses.

“Hey,” Elliot calls from his spot on the couch—his words stopping Darlene before she can sit down at the table. “We’ll find her—and then you two can talk everything out on the flight to Budapest.” He drags his backpack along the floor and unzips it as he talks—pulling out his laptop. His eyes flicker up for just a moment to catch Darlene—to see if that’s something that she wants. To bring Dom with them—or rather—with her. Already having made up his mind that he wouldn’t be on that flight. The corners of her lips crook up faintly at the proposal—her dark eyes lightening tenderly. She doesn’t respond to it, not verbally, but pulls out the chair and takes a seat.

“You know, sometimes she can ramble on forever about the dumbest things.” Darlene notes—that light-heartedness easing back into her voice. Elliot chuckles dryly at that—unable to stop the smile that crawls across his face. "God, it would be the longest flight ever."

“Sounds kind of familiar, if you ask me.” He snarks as he flips open the lid of his laptop and boots the system up.

“Elliot?” The name hangs in the air for a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. After everything—” Darlene starts, voice dripping with emotion again, before she’s promptly cut off.

“I know.” Elliot interrupts simply, calmly. And Darlene nods—a comfortable silence filling the motel—only broken by the sound of keyboards clacking.


End file.
